


Pill

by absolutelyCancerous (cal1brations)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Birth Control, F/M, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Oral Sex, and good old regular fuckin' too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/absolutelyCancerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soul is not really sure where his peers get the idea that a woman taking “the pill” is something absolutely <i>wonderful</i> for her boyfriend, because he is pretty sure Maka has never been quite this bad in the entirety of their partnership.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pill

Soul is not really sure where his peers get the idea that a woman taking “the pill” is something absolutely _wonderful_ for her boyfriend, because he is pretty sure Maka has never been quite this bad in the entirety of their partnership.

She doesn’t take it for him (one tally for him not having to feel guilty!) but moreso for herself, and other gross things that involve one of his favorite parts of her body bleeding periodically that he doesn’t particularly care to know intimate details about. But, because she is his meister, roommate, and his admitted-in-a-whisper kind of girlfriend, she tells him when she decides to begin taking it; a famiscile of a warning for what was to come.

The first few days, she complains of headaches. Not the let-me-just-take-a-painkiller kind, more like the I-am-going-to-die-take-my-will-and-leave-me-here kind, which leave her spending plenty of schooldays in bed with a damp cloth over her eyes, lights out, and the apartment quite near impossibly quiet. Soul feels bad for her every time she voices her discomfort, because it takes a good bit to get Maka to bitch like it’s a blaze issue, and he shuffles about the apartment as quietly as he can, getting her water and painkillers and whatever else she shyly asks him to do.

She tells him it’ll be worth it when she feels better, kissing him until his toes go a little numb and his lips tingle from how delicately (teasingly!) her lips move against his.

He assumes she knows best, and moves to wait out the storm.

The first few weeks, however, have him taking cover like a poor soldier lost out in the in-between of No Man’s Land, while still attempting to cater to her needs—it is a feat he is still proud of, smirks fondly in memory of before cringing at the remembrance of pain.

He takes witness to her walking down the hall to many mornings with embarrassing stains of blood on the backs of her pajama pants; at first she’d try to run to keep him from noticing but after a good few times, she walks casually with another set of bottoms in-tow down the hall. He never says anything, just waits at the bathroom door for her to finish so he can take a leak.

Her mood is more mercurial than it gets at the end of every month usually—that being she can either scream at him, cry at him, or laugh at him for bringing home something for dinner she did not entirely desire, and each is a truly frightening option (the laughter is nice, but too different from her usual self to be actually desirable). One time, he brings home a textbook she required him to run and pick up for her so she could finish her homework, and upon handing it to her, she yells about him being cold to her in accepting the task, and promptly cracks the spine of the book right on his skull.

She throws up a good number of times, each bout just as disgusting as the last, but Soul takes his job seriously as a partner and always joins her to hold back her hair and wipe her face when she is too tired to rub the vomit from her nose. It’s never because she’s sick, only because her stomach hurts, which, she realizes, is because the pills make her cramps absolutely **unbearable** , and her body decides throwing up is her best reaction to the pain—she cries at this knowledge, and Soul rubs her back as she wails her woes into the toilet seat.

However, this only lasts about a month or so, and when it’s over, the whole ordeal of misery ends with Maka excitedly eating something besides a tiny portion of a meal and enthusiastically cuddling with her weapon on the couch while he flips through channels and asks her how she’s doing, if she wants to go to bed, he’ll go sit with her if she’d like.

But Maka only slinks up closer to him, presses her nose against the junction of ear and jaw before placing an assortment of soft kisses down his jugular—nothing too lascivious (she believes, the little vixen) but enough for him to get a bit of a clue.

“You’re pretty much a saint for putting up with me,” she tells him, scooting her way to press all up against him and nuzzle her lips playfully against the bottom side of his jaw, one of her favorite places to kiss and nip and lick. He smells like AXE, and for the first time in a number of weeks, she legitimately sits and simply breathes the scent in to do nothing more than enjoy it, enjoy _him_.

“S’my job,” he answers, voice a little tight and hands itching to yank her into his lap; he’d be content with dry humping, make-outs, anything that involves her and him and not furiously touching himself to the thought of her all over him.

Maka grins, flicking open the button of his fly (efficiently providing surprise and a small laugh from each party) as she rests her cheek against his shoulder, her small hand rubbing warm circles up under his shirt on his lower belly, Soul’s skin hot as coals.

He turns his head, finally up to playing in her game (now sure that she won’t end up ripping away to roll around in pain or the likes) and lets his mouth hang open, a hopeful groan tumbling from his mouth. He feels her shiver at the low, animalistic sound, and he grins.

“Feeling better, I see.”

“I promised it’d be worth it.”

“You never defined what that entailed, Miss Albarn.”

Soul feels her grin into his shirt. “Maybe we should go to bed and find out.”

He’s going to **die**. In the good way, but, he’s still going to die; she’s just too much! From those glowing bedroom eyes that get him stumbling up faster than lightning to the way she just manages to trot down the hall, hips swinging and hair being let out of its hair tie confines—she never likes messing around with pigtails in, solely because it’s uncomfortable if she tosses her head side to side. (Also, because she likes to feel a little pretty while displaying her panties and underwear before Soul’s impeccable self, and because Soul always seems to have a certain fixation with her ash blonde locks.)

In his room, Maka crawls up to sit with her back against his headboard, eagerly ridding of her shirt, grinning when Soul sees her lack of a bra, and kicking off her pajama bottoms with fervor. Soul is his own storm of excited, whipping off his shirt and tripping out of his jeans—she giggles at his excitement, but is silenced when he settles over her, running his hands up her legs and kissing her so deeply, she can only feel the rumble of her moans entering his mouth. His cock grinds right up against her though his boxers and her panties, and _that_ is a sensation she missed, good god, he needs up hurry up and get inside her, **now**.

She moans wantonly, grinding against him to demonstrate her absolute need to be fucked—he’s not the only one who’s struggled through nights where a hand is the only sort of relief to be gained. Soul splutters against her at the contact, pulls himself up off her chest and moves to grab a condom from his nightstand drawer.

“It’s okay!” Maka assures, pulling him back against her because ooh, yes, his bare chest up against hers is a feeling she’ll _never_ get over, the warmth of his flesh, the bumps of old scar tissue, the racing of his heart against her are all things she will never be unexcited or unenthusiastic about.

Soul, however, is confused. He takes her words as a turn down, and begins moving so he’s not totally dry humping her crotch, but Maka stops him again, laughing breathlessly at his manners. Her partner does not look amused with her giggles.

“What?”

She tugs him back up to her. “I told you it’d—“

“Be worth it, I know!” He’s irritated, she can safely assume because he thinks she only meant to rile him up and let him down.

“There’s a _reason_ it’s called “birth control”, Soul.”

Again, he is going to quite literally die.

Maka sits up a little, spreading her legs wide so she can get down to his boxers, tugging them down and running her fingertips along the side of his cock, effectively drawing a grunt out of him and a slap of his forehead hitting her chest. His pants hit her skin, hot and quick, and she finds herself squirming more in need than before.

She draws up her legs (clocking him in the chin by accident with her knobby knee, for which she apologizes and kisses him for) in order to get rid of her panties, her hand unable to resist playing with her clit just that little bit, just to remind her of the pleasure she so _desperately_ needs after so long of going without him. But it _will_ be worth it, because she suffered nearly a month and a half because of these goddamn pills, and if his actual cock, sans latex condom, doesn’t make her see stars like she has been led to believe, she’s going to cry.

Soul seems more concerned about her playing with herself than reaching for a condom again, which is good. He takes over for her, uses the pad of his thumb just like she likes, and rubs in slow, wide circles that make her choke out moans and buck her hips, nearly sobbing his name—she’s never been patient.

“Please, _oh_ , please,” she pants, attempting to sit up to pull him closer, but Soul presses her back against the pillows and effectively makes her whimper in need, a sound that makes him choke on his own spit and struggle not to pump his own dick.

“So, just—“

“Just _do_ _it_!”

He almost has the sass to ask her for that in writing, but upon looking at her red face, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she rides his hand, he finds himself able to do nothing but press himself over top her, look down the length of her as he has to use his hand to lead himself into her (which still takes a whopping four tries before he sticks it in correctly).

And, oh god, Maka could _not_ have always been this hot and tight, no way. Soul doesn’t even register the fact Maka’s nearly yelling next to his ear, or her nails are digging into to backs of his arms, because he’s struggling to move his hips even just a few times before he feels the overwhelming ocean of orgasm crash on him, something that takes nearly no time at all and has him hollering his utter bliss in a voice much higher than usual—he blames that on the feel of Maka’s bare pussy clenching and sliding around him, a sensation that’s spoiled him from the very first touch.

Maka, however, is whimpering and moaning, nearly in tears; she’s close enough that it aches, that he needs to help her or he’s going to be the source of some newly-shaped trust issues. Soul wastes no time in scooting down the bed, holding her up by the ass so her slit is a ready and waiting meal before him. There’s not teasing this time, simply because Maka’s so desperate for release, so instead, he simply dives in, licking and sucking all the places he’s so fondly acquainted with. She writhes and grinds into his face, knots her fingers in his hair and moans loudly, the types of moans that start in the belly and claw up through your being, that demonstrate just how thoroughly your world is being rocked.

When she comes, she pants and sighs and squeals, riding his face with almost-violent bucks of her hips, and doesn’t stop until the mind-blowing sensation is nonexistent, and all she can feel is his lips kissing at the insides of her thighs and his nose brushing against her sensitive clit as he sits up on his knees to wipe his face (grossly, might she add).

When he flops down beside her, sighing akin to the sound he makes after a particularly tasty soul, Maka instantly turns to curl into him, smiling and panting and probably glowing, as corny as it sounds. She tucks some of his bangs behind his ear, and snorts at how sweaty his skin is; sex apparently takes a lot of effort!

“No cleaning up condom stick,” she tells him, because it’s _true_ and she’s kind of glad she doesn’t have that post-coitus slick of condom lube between her legs, a major downside of condoms, in her book.

Soul’s face reddens, but he nods as he tucks his face against her left breast. “No fancy tying off and getting up, either,” he mumbles, because standing up after a fuck is pretty much like trying to stand when your legs have fallen completely asleep—it’s just not a thing that happens, or, happens easily, anyway.

Eventually, Soul ends up falling asleep there, against Maka’s bare chest, as they lie in a content silence. Maka smiles when she tries to ask him a question and her only response is a snore, and merely rubs soothing circles on his back until she, too, ends up nodding off, his hair rubbing up against her cheek and his drool making her breast feel a little more than just “disgusting”.


End file.
